Never Surrender to a Scoundrel Read Online Free PDF Page B

felt such relief at having arrived at this solution. Once the information was passed to Fox, Dominick would be free of all obligations and ready to depart London on a moment’s notice.
    Calling the carriage around once again, he traveled directly to Wolverton’s house. Upon entering, he observed from a distance a small army of confectioner’s assistants in the ballroom setting up some sort of display of little pink cakes or meringues on a table, while at the center of the house workmen finished the installation of a God-awful pink carpet onto the grand staircase, pink being Clarissa’s favorite color. The scent of flowers—pink and white flowers, of course—hung everywhere, so strong he fought the urge to sneeze. He marveled at the silly frivolity of it all, most certainly a reflection of Clarissa.
    He hated to destroy her happiness with word of her feckless lover’s betrayal. Perhaps it would be best she not hear the news until tomorrow? He would leave that decision to Havering. Once the information was passed, his conscience would be troubled no more.
    Ah—there, Havering stood just around the corner, speaking to Claxton. Dominick moved toward them, his intention to draw Fox aside for a private conversation—
    Only to be intercepted by Mrs. Brightmore, who subtly lifted a hand, indicating he should proceed toward Wolverton’s chambers.
    “Ah.” He paused midstep. “Now?”
    “Indeed.”
    “It’s early yet.”
    She winked. “Some of us have other duties to perform this evening, besides sauntering about in fancy clothes and drinking pink lemonade from a little crystal cup.”
    His gaze returned to Havering, but in the end duty called. He would find him afterward and discreetly share his concerns for Clarissa then. He changed direction, taking the corridor to Wolverton’s chambers as he had so often done over the past two years under the guise of being summoned, or more often commanded , by the earl to do so. His role, after all, had been to play a gambler and a drunk. Someone consumed by his own addictions but, more important, inattentive to his surroundings. Though he’d played double duty as a personal guard to Wolverton, his primary assignment had been to lure into the open the man or men whom vague whispers of intelligence said wanted Lord Wolverton and his every living heir dead. The earl’s own past in foreign secret service perhaps provided a motive for any number of surviving enemies, known and unknown, at home and abroad. Lady Harwick and the young ladies hadn’t been told because the earl had no wish to frighten or burden them with unsubstantiated explanations of past tragedies, namely the deaths of his son and grandson.
    Entering the anteroom, Dominick joined his team—O’Connell, His Lordship’s valet, Mr. Ollister, the first footman, and Mrs. Brightmore, the housekeeper, the last of whom stepped through a small doorway on the opposite side of the room.
    “Reports?” asked Mrs. Brightmore as she briskly circled round to collect a sealed envelope from each man, which she quickly secured inside her apron.
    Dominick, aware his next assignment could come any day, had written out his final report the night before. Though he gave no outward indications, his heart beat fast. The ensuing moments might bring him great satisfaction or a devastating blow, in that he might receive his new orders. He closed his eyes, sending up a brief prayer that his superiors would see fit to return him to foreign service, as he so fervently wished.
    “How is Wolverton?” he asked O’Connell, his interest sincere.
    “Very well today,” O’Connell replied succinctly. “His Lordship wishes to see you when we are concluded here.”
    Mr. Ollister straightened. “Let us finish our business, so we can all return to our posts.” He looked to Dominick and nodded cordially. “As we all suspected, the Secretary of State has seen fit to revise the scope of our mission. Now that the earl has a true heir in young